


one step closer to eternity

by Hornet394



Series: c/c/r/e escapades [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Body Worship, Bondage, Cock Worship, Courf and R are somewhere in between, Dirty Talk, Dominant Combeferre, Eponine knows all of r's sexual history, Face-Fucking, Flustered Grantaire, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Gags, Hair-pulling, Light Dom/sub, Look it's just 9k of porn I'm sorry if I leave out tags accidentally, Multi, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Rimming, Sex Toys, Spanking, Submissive Enjolras, Tiny Enjolras, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, i also lowkey switch povs a lot so i apologize in advance, i guess?, that's my hc i will fight you over this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-05 23:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19050706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornet394/pseuds/Hornet394
Summary: Enjolras needs a distraction. Combeferre is out of town for a conference, so Courfeyrac ropes in Grantaire to help out.





	one step closer to eternity

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for this fandom and it's porn of course it is
> 
> Thanks to El for beta-ing even if you don't know anything about les mis <3
> 
> Anyway the les mis fandom dragged me under like four months ago? and now I'm here contributing
> 
> (not gonna lie not much on-screen negotiating but rest assured c/c/e have negotiated it fully it's just r who's kinda tagging along for the ride but! ferre gives him options and everything is fully consensual)

Enjolras talking to himself is no big deal. It’s when the talking to himself involves swear words, self-deprecating comments, and finally, the “I can’t do this”, that Courfeyrac knows he has to intervene. If not for Enjolras’ sake, at least for Grantaire’s, who’s curled up on the sofa chair looking extremely alarmed at Enjolras’ uncharacteristic behaviour.

When Enjolras starts doing the weird, throaty whine, Courfeyrac clears his throat loudly. Both Grantaire and Enjolras snap up to stare at him, Grantaire pleading, Enjolras frazzled. “Do you need me to call Ferre?” Courfeyrac asks, keeping his voice level. Grantaire’s gaze flicks between Enjolras and Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac can tell in his eyes that he’s contemplating just vanishing through the chair he’s in. Normally he’d find it hilarious, but right now Enjolras needs his full attention. He’s not as good at this ordering Enjolras around thing that Combeferre has down as art, but in his absence, Courfeyrac has to swallow his apprehension and just do it.

Enjolras’ eyes flicker between Courfeyrac and Grantaire too, but then he gives a jerky nod and puts his laptop to aside. Grantaire switches off his tablet and slips it into his bag. “I should go.” He stammers out, standing up abruptly, “I’ll finish the posters tomorrow.”

“Stay.” Enjolras is the one who snaps out, and Courfeyrac nods at Grantaire’s befuddled gaze as he passes Enjolras his phone.

“Take it in the room, Enj,” He tells Enjolras, then turns his attention to Grantaire, who’s still standing there dumbly.

“Um.” Grantaire mumbles out, “Shouldn’t I go?”

Courfeyrac tilts his head slightly. “Do you want to go?” Grantaire looks even more confused than before. His tongue darts out to wet his lips nervously, olive eyes staring back at Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac stands up and walks closer to Grantaire, daring the artist to back away, to just pick up his bag and go. “If you want,” He says seriously, “You can help Ferre and me with Enjolras. Enjolras is too tense, you see, and he needs our help to relax, but Ferre isn’t here. I can’t do it by myself, and I’d appreciate it if you could help me out.”

Grantaire falls back on his chair, staring up at Courfeyrac incredulously. “Help out.” He repeats weakly, “Could you repeat that?”

Courfeyrac makes a frustrated noise. This is why they’d wanted to ask after Combeferre came back, but Combeferre had told Courfeyrac to ask anyway. Much like Enjolras, there’s little to no possibility of Courfeyrac saying no to Combeferre.

If Grantaire says no... Well. Then Combeferre would just have to punish him for not doing a good job, right?

“If Enjolras accepts, he will be waiting for one of us to bend him over the knee and spank him. Both of us, if you are up for it,” Courfeyrac tells an increasingly alarmed Grantaire, “Then we will tie him up, and Combeferre will have more instructions for us.” Grantaire’s breathing has quickened now, and Courfeyrac knows - well, Combeferre knows, so same thing - that Grantaire is physically impossible of denying anything Enjolras asks of him, so he adds, “My hope is that I’ll get to finger him, and maybe you’d get to rim him. He thinks a lot about your stubble, you know?”

Grantaire’s hand flies towards his chin, then drops him immediately as if he was scalded, but his wide eyes haven’t left Courfeyrac’s, not once. “I hope we get to fuck him,” Courfeyrac continues, but it’s hard to keep his own arousal out of his voice, “He makes the best noises when he’s completely let go, you know. He’s a real screamer in bed. But it’s all up to Combeferre. And you - you just need to say yes.”

Courfeyrac’s caged Grantaire against the chair now, the other man clutching the arms of the chair like a lifeline. His pupils are blown, a soft sheen of sweat across his forehead. His breathing is harsh and clipped, mouth slightly parted. Courfeyrac would back up and stop overwhelming him, but the tent in Grantaire’s jeans tell Courfeyrac that he’s on the right track.

“Enjolras doesn’t want me that way.” Grantaire manages to force out, “Combeferre wouldn’t - you wouldn’t.”

“Enjolras has wanted to blow you for two months.” Courfeyrac blurts out, pressing even closer to Grantaire, “Combeferre has wanted to see Enjolras blow you for even longer. I’d blow you now, but Ferre hasn’t given permission yet.”

It isn’t a secret that Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras are in both a healthy emotional relationship and a kinky sexual one. Grantaire is regularly plagued by the times he’d seen lace poking out of Courfeyrac’s jeans, or that one time Enjolras had suddenly stopped in the middle of a speech, his face red and flushed, body tense, then had fled to the toilet. Combeferre had followed in a few minutes, and in their absence Courfeyrac had hinted to a particular object inserted into a particular place of their leader’s body - at then it had only made Grantaire painfully turned on and painfully aware of the fact that it’ll never be him. A sad boner, Eponine had said.

He had been burdened by the knowledge that this particular pathetic crush he had would go nowhere, that Enjolras would never trust him that way, let alone the fact that Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras just fit so well together. The more he looked the more he saw, and if Enjolras was easy to love, so were Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Combeferre was the rock in a middle of the storm, he would be the one to text Grantaire and ask if he was alright if Enjolras had yelled at him during a meeting. He was always reassuring and approachable, ready to listen to anything and give encouragement and support. He was the one who helped Grantaire secure gallery exhibitions when Grantaire had been caught up in painting or self-loathing. He was there for every showing, and was the one who read up on art just for Grantaire’s sake,  the one to show him off to everyone who cared to listen. He was the one who made Grantaire feel that maybe, he isn’t that useless.

Courfeyrac dispersed his smiles and affection easily and was always the first one to notice if Grantaire had locked himself in the studio. They shared 3am beers together until Grantaire decided to quit, and after that Courfeyrac had been the one who held Grantaire back at the worst of his withdrawal symptoms, and he and Jehan had taken turns sleeping on Grantaire’s couch for three weeks. Courfeyrac was the warmth to Enjolras’ light.

So you see, it was extremely difficult to not fall in love with them as well.

The more he saw them the more he realised they were in their own slice of the world, one that he was reluctant to encroach on yet all the more yearned for. To be part of their light, just a little; To be able to admire not only Enjolras, but all three of them, a trinity of which drives Grantaire to his knees. And here Courfeyrac was, propositioning him like they were simply chatting about the weather.

He pinches himself on the arm, hard, and he swears loudly at the pain. Courfeyrac’s intense glance on him turns into mild confusion and amusement, but he does back off and let Grantaire just _breathe_ a little. “You can say no, you know.” Courfeyrac’s smile is crooked and punches the wind out of Grantaire’s sails - how _could_ he say no.

If Grantaire was to drop dead tomorrow, at least he could have this tonight. It must show in his face or in his outstretched hand, because a full, beautiful smile breaks on Courfeyrac’s face, and he leans in to bury a hand in Grantaire’s hair, forcefully tugging him forward until their lips meet.

Courfeyrac is an experienced kisser, Grantaire knows as much from the many exploits he’s heard from the man himself and from the rest of their friends. But he’s not prepared for how filthy the kiss turns immediately, his own tongue trying to catch up clumsily with Courfeyrac’s as the other man pushes him against the sofa.

When they part Grantaire really starts to think that Courfeyrac’s completely stolen his breath away, his hands gripping on Courfeyrac’s arms as he struggles to regain focus on the situation on hand.

“Don’t tell Combeferre about the kiss,” Courfeyrac says in a low voice that makes Grantaire whimper. “Come to the bedroom, we’ve left Enjolras and Combeferre waiting long enough.”

His smaller hand wraps around Grantaire’s wrist, tugging him up insistently. Grantaire almost trips over his bag, but Courfeyrac steadies him and begins to tow him along. “Wait,” Grantaire stutters out, “Are you sure Enj- Enjolras will be okay with me?”

“I told you,” Courfeyrac snorts, “Enjolras wanted to blow you for months. And if he doesn’t want you here now, we'd have heard already.”

Courfeyrac stops right outside the closed door, and Grantaire crashes into his back. Scuffling with uncertainty, he looks to Courfeyrac again. “Just so you know, when I open the door, we’ll have begun,” Courfeyrac says, “Eponine says you’ve had experience in the d/s scene before, so I assume you know what it means when I say Enjolras will need both of us?”

Grantaire nods jerkily. He’ll try, but he’s not sure how much composure he’ll be able to retain when he’s having sex with literal gods, but okay, he’ll try. Why were they even asking Eponine about his sexual history? “What do you need from me?” He asks instead, staring at the closed door behind Courfeyrac.

“Just be yourself,” Courfeyrac reassures him, then, at Grantaire’s raised eyebrow, “Okay, minus the self-deprecation and general self-loathing. Just tell Enjolras how good he is, tell _me_ how good I am.” He says this with a playful wink. “Above all, just listen to Combeferre. If you feel uncertain, just ask Combeferre what to do.”

Grantaire takes a deep breath, and nods again. “Alright,” he says, “but if you guys don’t want me in there-”

Courfeyrac just rolls his eyes and knocks on the door softly. There’s no sound and he turns the doorknob, pulling Grantaire into the room behind him.

Enjolras looks up as they spill in, gaze intense and unwavering, unalike how he normally is, save for the fact that he is kneeling at the foot of the bed, completely naked. Nothing in Grantaire’s imagination could have prepared him for this, Enjolras looking even smaller like this, his skin a fine marble, blemished only by a faint line of hickeys trailing along his right collarbone.

Judging by the bookshelves scattered around the room, this is Combeferre’s bedroom, and the sheets are white and pristine. Enjolras is kneeling on the floor at the end of Combeferre’s bed, peering at Grantaire with those blue eyes of his, his hands crossed behind his back.

Across the bed is Combeferre’s desk, and on it is an open laptop. Combeferre gives Grantaire a small wave on the screen, but Grantaire’s a little too overwhelmed to return the gesture. This is how the trio see each other, Grantaire realizes. And they’re letting him see this too.

He snaps to attention when Combeferre calls his name. The other man must be in his hotel room, given the warm ambience and cliche wall art above the wall. He’s just in a white t-shirt, glasses perched on his nose. Only the upper part of his body is in view.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre is asking, “You’ve had a long talk with Courfeyrac, right? Could you tell me what you two talked about?”

“Listen to Combeferre,” falls out automatically, startling a barking laugh out of Courfeyrac. Even Enjolras ducks his head to try and hide his grin, but Combeferre’s smile is gentle and understanding, as if he’s able to just look into Grantaire’s brain and see that it’s half fried already from everything that’s happening.

“Is he wrong, Enjolras?” Combeferre asks lazily, and the blonde looks up, his eyes a little hazy as he shakes his head quietly and seriously. “Courf?” Combeferre turns to ask, and Courfeyrac makes a faint choking sound, his grip on Grantaire’s wrist tightening as he too shakes his head.

“That’s right,” Combeferre says with a soft smile, miles away yet all three of them are looking to him with rapt attention, “You just need to listen to me.”

“Now,” Combeferre continues, “Safeword?”

“Red.” Enjolras and Courfeyrac say at the same time dutifully. Courfeyrac’s voice has gotten much quieter compared to outside the room.

“Is that okay with you, Grantaire, or do you need another word?” Combeferre asks, and Grantaire swallows thickly. “Red. Red is fine.” He forces out.

Combeferre’s smile is warm and accommodating, but the words that next slip out of his mouth makes Grantaire’s knees almost buckle, and he has to grip Courfeyrac’s arm to hold himself up.

“Enjolras,” His tone is positively devious, “Be a good pet and take off their clothes.”

Enjolras’ gaze flickers up to Grantaire’s, and he’s the one the blonde chooses to crawl towards first. His bare arms are slender and pale as they reach up the zipper of his jeans, looking straight up at Grantaire with those big blue eyes of his. His hair is neatly tied in a low ponytail, his lips red and his cheeks flushed almost the same shade. Enjolras has always been short, but he looks even more petite on his knees in front of Grantaire. This is God’s finest creation, teasingly playing with the zipper as Grantaire’s cock swells uncomfortably underneath the fabric.

Suddenly a hand buries itself in Enjolras’ curls, tugging a whine out of the smaller man. “You need to be a bit rough with our dear Enjolras here,” Courfeyrac murmurs, “He’s too much of a tease.”

“I’ll try,” Grantaire says shakily as Enjolras returns to the task with increased haste, “Does he respond to names?”

“Some, not many,” Courfeyrac answers, his grip on Grantaire’s wrist turning to lace into his fingers, “he likes being called sweetheart, darling, or baby. Other names are for specific situations, and some names are Combeferre-only. You can ask him. Calling him just by Enjolras is also okay.”

Courfeyrac’s hands are slightly smaller than Grantaire’s own, but his hold is firm as Grantaire steps out of his jeans, reassuring. Grantaire shivers when Enjolras’ fingers glance along the waistband of his boxers, but Courfeyrac’s hand is still in Enjolras’ hair. As Courfeyrac’s fingers tighten, Enjolras lets out a remarkably cat-like hiss, his fingers digging into Grantaire’s hips and yanking his boxers down.

After Grantaire steps out of them and kicks them into his discarded jeans, Enjolras is still staring at him. Courfeyrac doesn’t urge Enjolras along, lets him have this. He’s also a bit amused at the cross-eyed look Enjolras has, eyes already going hazy and his lips parted open prettily.

If Courfeyrac wasn’t so focused on Enjolras’ benefit and Grantaire’s comfort, he supposed that he’d have a similar reaction. He knows that Grantaire hasn’t had an active sex life, if any, ever since he laid eyes upon Enjolras - which was about a good two years ago and far too long in Courfeyrac’s opinion - but Eponine had giggled and hinted to him and Combeferre that Grantaire had a good deal hidden under his clothes.

Ever since he started therapy for his vices he’d been able to regain his physique from boxing and dance, but even without that he clearly had the largest dick out of all four of them, and Enjolras had always been a damn size queen. Courfeyrac _really_ doesn’t blame Enjolras for staring.

Finally Enjolras seems to collect himself and turns his attentions on Courfeyrac, and he lets go of the blonde’s hair. Enjolras’ smile is slightly teasing as he drags Courfeyrac’s sweatpants down his legs. Courfeyrac is glad to see Enjolras already starting to relax, but he knows this is far from enough for him.

Enjolras stands up unsteadily and makes quick work of both of their shirts, his hands running teasingly down Courfeyrac’s sides and shyly across Grantaire’s toned stomach. He sinks back onto his knees when he’s done, awaiting Combeferre’s next command.

Combeferre is leaning back against the wall, still clothed. His eyes rake across Grantaire and Courfeyrac appreciatively, then he turns his attention onto Enjolras. This all started because of him, after all.

“You’ve done a good job so far,” Combeferre tells Enjolras, “And good boys always have rewards. I’ll give you one chance to tell me what you want, and I’ll consider it.”

Enjolras’ eyes flicker between all three men, and he licks his lips before he says quickly, “I want to service Grantaire with my mouth. I want Courfeyrac to prepare me. I want to be tied down as both of them fuck me.”

Combeferre lets it sink into silence for a moment, Grantaire still looking as overwhelmed, Courfeyrac running fingers playfully along the artist’s arm. “Is that all?” He asks Enjolras, and the other man nods firmly.

“Very well,” He says, reaching down to push his own sweatpants down lightly, “Get on the bed, hands and feet, along the edge of the bed so I can see every inch of your gorgeous body. Grantaire, put three pillows underneath him. Courfeyrac, tie his wrists.”

Enjolras scrambles onto the bed, eagerly assuming the position Combeferre wants him to be in. “Can I touch?” He hears Grantaire murmur above him, and Combeferre assents to Enjolras’ glee. He arches his back when Grantaire’s broad, calloused hands rests on his hip, letting Combeferre see the stretch in his body. He’d always wanted Grantaire to touch him, wanted to know how it would felt when he had seen Grantaire’s hands wrapped around bottles, then paint brushes. Grantaire’s next touch is more firm, palming the curve of his ass and down onto his thighs. Enjolras knows he has a physically appealing appearance, and he revels that he is able to captivate Grantaire with it.

“Hands for me, sweetheart,” Courfeyrac’s voice is playful and wicked, bringing an answering smile on Enjolras’ face as he obeys. Both of Grantaire’s hands steady him by his waist, eliciting a small whimper from Enjolras.

“Did you hear that, R?” Courfeyrac laughs, “Our Enj likes your hands on him.” Red rope drapes across Enjolras’ wrist, Courfeyrac must have fetched it in Enjolras’ Grantaire-induced daze. One of Grantaire’s hands leave Enjolras’ waist, but the other compensates for gripping tighter, sending a heady feeling into Enjolras’ brain.

Courfeyrac holds him up by the wrist and Grantaire holds him up by the waist as pillows slide underneath him, and he wriggles around a bit until he finds the best angle to lie down comfortably. He’s braced himself on his elbows, Courfeyrac tightening the knots around his wrists soothingly. Grantaire’s hands are back on his waist and back, calluses drawing patterns into his skin. He wants to feel those same hands back on his ass, but he’s not sure if Combeferre would like him to ask. His chance to say what he wanted was over already, after all.

He subtly tries to inch forward, but then Grantaire’s grip tightens on him, as if trapping him in place. Enjolras whimpers. He likes this more.

“Enjolras.” Combeferre’s voice is chastening, and Enjolras wilts slightly, knowing that nothing would escape Combeferre’s notice. “What did he do, Ferre?” Courfeyrac asks, petting Enjolras’ hair lightly.

“He was greedy for our dear R’s hands on his ass, wasn’t he?” Combeferre muses, and Grantaire makes a soft, confused noise. “I’m feeling loved here, Enj,” Courfeyrac laughs, “Grantaire, don’t give in to him.”

Grantaire privately thinks it’s a much harder thing to do than Courfeyrac makes it out to be, but he also knows Combeferre is watching, and somehow it makes it easier, that way. He just needs to listen to Combeferre.

Enjolras is keening now, as if begging for Courfeyrac’s forgiveness, nuzzling into the other man’s hand like a kitten. Courfeyrac’s body are soft curves, so unlike Grantaire’s own stockiness and Enjolras’ lean, tiny figure.

Grantaire looks to Combeferre, who seems to be lounging easily on his hotel bed, casual and lazy. “Can I kiss Courfeyrac?” He asks hoarsely, winning himself a soft smile. “You don’t have to ask me if you want to play with Courfeyrac,” Combeferre tells him gently. “I like to ask,” Grantaire replies, reaching over Enjolras to grab on Courfeyrac’s forearm. The other man goes with the movement easily, and they kiss again, as startlingly wonderful as the first.

Courfeyrac’s hand curls in Grantaire’s hair, tugging slightly to dominate the kiss. “You have a thing for pulling on people’s hair?” Grantaire asks when they finally part for air. Courfeyrac just answers by yanking Grantaire’s head backwards, dragging his lips along Grantaire’s stubble and onto his neck, planting a loud kiss there before releasing Grantaire with a satisfied grin.

“Oh dear,” Combeferre chuckles, “It seems you’ve crushed Enjolras between your dicks.”

Grantaire looks down belatedly to see the smaller man quivering between them. His own cock has slipped in snugly between Enjolras’ ass cheeks, while Courfeyrac’s has smeared pre-cum all over Enjolras’ face.

“We got carried away?” Grantaire offers. “Can you blame us?” Courfeyrac adds.

“Since I’m not there with you, Courf, I’d like to say I can,” Combeferre muses, “I’ll let it be for now, but I won’t have you teaching Grantaire bad manners. I’ll deal with you myself when I come back. Now go sit behind Enjolras.”

Combeferre’s voice makes it easy for Grantaire to slip into the same obedience that Courfeyrac exhibits, and they shuffle higher up onto the bed so they’re facing Combeferre, with the elegant curve of Enjolras’ body between them.

“Now, Enjolras,” Combeferre says, “The reason why you’re on your knees is because I was told that you’ve not taken care of yourself again. Is that true?”

Enjolras nods reluctantly. Combeferre’s answering sigh makes him flinch slightly, and he curls up closer to himself. “We’ve had this conversation before, Enj,” He chastises, “Eating well and sleeping at proper times is important. And now you’ve dragged Courfeyrac and Grantaire away from their work because you failed to remember your lesson.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras whimpers weakly, his words like honey to Grantaire’s ears, “I’m really sorry.”

Grantaire startles at Combeferre’s call, and he looks to the other man. “Grantaire, I’m going to have you and Courfeyrac punish Enjolras. Now, this is up to you. Either Courfeyrac gives Enjolras twenty spanks, then ten by paddle while you keep count. Or, Courfeyrac gives Enjolras twenty spanks, then you give twenty.”

Grantaire looks at Courfeyrac, who gives him a teasing smirk, then at Enjolras, who is resolutely staring at the bed, but his ass is on display, marble skin unblemished and inviting. He looks back to Combeferre, unsure.

“Should I make the decision?” The other man muses, “It seems you’re not as bossy as Courfeyrac.”

Grantaire nods rapidly. Yes, please. He’s not sure he could ever keep his mind straight between Courfeyrac’s distracting presence, Combeferre’s tone and voice, and Enjolras’ demure submission.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Courfeyrac remarks playfully, “If Enjy had known this was the way to shut you up he’d have done it a long time ago.”

“Stop teasing, Courf,” Combeferre’s tone is firm yet gentle, “Go fetch the paddle. Grantaire, you’ll pin Enjolras down and keep count.”

Enjolras makes an indignant noise, but a pointed glance from Combeferre silences it. Combeferre has moved his laptop even closer to his face, but otherwise he’s still dressed and collected.

Courfeyrac crawls towards the bedside cupboard, swaying his hips as he goes for Combeferre and Grantaire’s benefit. Grantaire shuffles closer towards Enjolras, resting a hand on the top of Enjolras’ head. The blonde locks are as smooth as he had imagined, and with Courfeyrac’s rough treatment half of it had fallen out of the red hair tie, cascading onto the bed next to Enjolras’ hair. With Courfeyrac still digging through the cupboard - how many sex toys do they have? - Grantaire pulls the hair tie off, then gently pulls Enjolras’ hair back and reties it, albeit loosely. He figures that either him or Courfeyrac will just mess it up later, but at least now it’s not tickling Enjolras’ neck or ear.

“R is so soft to Enjolras.” Courfeyrac pouts, returning to Grantaire’s side, but Combeferre just laughs, so Grantaire figures it’s okay if he’s soft, right?

“I’m going to begin now,” Courfeyrac says, scooting behind Enjolras. “Remember to keep count, R.” Combeferre reminds, and Grantaire nods, placing a hand between Enjolras’ shoulder blades.

The first hit is crisp and bursts through the quiet of the room. “One.” Grantaire says, his voice oddly steady, surprising even to himself. Courfeyrac’s next hit is accompanied with a whimper from Enjolras, his body quivering under Grantaire’s hand. His other hand goes to pet Enjolras’ hair gently, a palpable contrast with Courfeyrac’s hard hits.

At the fourth hit Enjolras’ ass is already reddening terribly, outlines of handprints clear on the pale skin. Courfeyrac’s never hits the same place twice, each with the same force. Grantaire marvels at Courfeyrac’s self-control.

By the tenth Enjolras is burying his face into the bedsheets to muffle his cries, Grantaire’s voice and hand a grounding, steady presence. “Almost halfway, pet,” Combeferre says, “You’re taking your punishment excellently. What a good boy.” Combeferre’s soft praises continue throughout, punctured with the sound of Courfeyrac’s palm hitting skin, mixed in with Enjolras’ whines.

By the time Courfeyrac is done with his twenty, Enjolras backside is completely red and throbbing, the colour snaking up to his hip and the base of his spine. Enjolras is sniffling, but lifts his head, his face flushed red.

“Good boy, sweet boy, Enjolras.” Combeferre soothes, “Thank you, R, for keeping our pet company. But it’s not over yet. Ten more with the paddle, and you’ll get your reward.”

The crack the paddle makes against skin is loud, partnered by Enjolras’ sharp cry. Grantaire runs his hands down Enjolras’ spine like one would a cat, holding him in place as the second hit lands.

Tears do begin to fall from Enjolras’ eyes at the fourth hit, and he looks up at Grantaire with a pleading, pitiful look. Grantaire shushes him as the hits continue, hand running up and down Enjolras’ hair and chin comfortingly.

The last two or three hits Enjolras is burying his face into the bed again, his screams muffled by the fabric. Grantaire’s throat is running dry as he keeps count, captivated by the sight of red flesh, vulnerable and enticing.

With the last hit Enjolras bursts into tears, burying his face in Grantaire’s hand, his own digging into the bedsheets. “There, we’re done, you’re absolutely amazing,” Combeferre croons through the speakers of the laptop, “You were so good, you took everything Courf gave you, you’re such a good boy, aren’t you? Such a good boy for all three of us, love.”

Combeferre’s soft words continue as Enjolras cries, the tension bleeding out with every heave of his body, until he’s pliant and boneless on the pillows and in Grantaire’s hands. Courfeyrac puts the paddle away and kneads Enjolras’ shoulders gently, letting Enjolras fall apart with Combeferre’s voice.

Courfeyrac brings the laptop onto the bed, lets Combeferre and Enjolras have their moment as he draws closer to Grantaire. “R, have you had sex with anyone since the last health check with Joly?” He asks, holding up a condom package. How Courfeyrac manages to grab everything without Grantaire noticing is beyond his understanding.

Grantaire shakes his head in the negative, so Courfeyrac happily throws the package over his shoulder. They leave the laptop at the end of the bed as they move Enjolras more towards the head of it, Grantaire lifting Enjolras up like he is cradling a cat and depositing him onto the pillows that Courfeyrac rearranges.

“Now, the punishment part is over.” Combeferre says lightly, “Good boys get rewards, and you’ve already said yours. Grantaire, let Enjolras suck your cock.”

Grantaire feels it when Enjolras turns to stare at him, the command clear in his eyes despite his bound and helpless state. His cock is already shamefully hard from watching Courfeyrac spank Enjolras, and he only needs to shuffle closer to kneel in front of Enjolras.

Grantaire wipes away the tear tracks on Enjolras’ face, petting his hair softly, a porcelain doll in Grantaire’s care. Courfeyrac says to be rough, but Grantaire doubts he could ever bring himself to do it. Enjolras is his first love, Helios embodied, an archangel sent to earth to bring Grantaire to his knees.

Enjolras nuzzles into his touch, a satisfied smile on his face as Grantaire takes care of him. “Open up, mon ange,” he murmurs, the name slipping out naturally. Enjolras’ gaze is heated and he licks his lips.

Pressing his cock against Enjolras’ lips is like a sacrilege, his pre-cum tainting those cherry lips. “I like that name during sex.” Enjolras says, almost uncharacteristically shy, and then he’s turning his head to take Grantaire’s cock into his mouth.

Grantaire groans out loud at the impossible heat around his cock, his eyes falling shut as he is enveloped in warm pressure. Enjolras’ tongue swirls around his cock as the blonde pushes himself further down Grantaire’s cock, until he stops, just resting there for a moment. The same determination he applies in all things to life he apparently also applies to blowing Grantaire’s mind through his cock.

Grantaire opens his eyes, meeting Enjolras’ vivid blue ones. “R, choke him.” Combeferre instructs, and before Grantaire realises his hands are already tangling in Enjolras’ curls as he thrusts forward. Just one quick movement, and as he pulls out Enjolras is spluttering, tears running anew from his eyes, a trail of saliva connecting his lips and Grantaire’s cock salaciously.

“So beautiful, mon ange,” Grantaire says, thrusting in again, but this time slowly, watching Enjolras’ lips stretch around his cock, the movements in Enjolras’ throat as Grantaire holds him in place with his hair. Enjolras doesn’t gag this time, just stares up with watery blue eyes as Grantaire’s cock sinks further down his throat.

Grantaire holds him there for a few seconds, caressing the bulge in Enjolras’ throat, before moving back equally as slowly. Enjolras’ tongue curls around his cock teasingly, and Grantaire pushes forward again. He remains in this slow rhythm until Enjolras seems to have gotten used to it, his tongue and lips moving on their own accord to draw Grantaire in. He slowly increases his speed, grip on Enjolras’ hair still tight, until they both find a speed they are comfortable with, the tip of Grantaire’s cock gently hitting the back of Enjolras’ throat with every thrust, Enjolras’ nose buried in thick pelvic hair.

Suddenly Enjolras moans when Grantaire’s cock is buried deep in his throat, and Grantaire tears his eyes away from Enjolras’ face to glance over at Courfeyrac. The other man meets his gaze and smirks, drawing another moan out of Enjolras as he begins a scissoring motion with his two fingers. Enjolras’ throat is even tighter, the movements of his tongue far more disorientated.

It had been fun watching Grantaire have his way with Enjolras, but Courfeyrac was someone who got bored easily. So while Grantaire and Enjolras were busy eye-fucking each other, he’d lubed up two of his fingers, sinking them into Enjolras without preamble.

It’s too tight, but the edge of pain had always helped Enjolras take his mind off everything, and the way Grantaire’s low groan rung in the room showed that he appreciated it too.

Enjolras’ rim clings to Courfeyrac’s fingers, squeezing his digits as he spreads his fingers apart. If Enjolras wants to take Grantaire’s cock smoothly, he’ll need more prep than what Courfeyrac tends to give him. He probably still won’t give Enjolras enough prep, but just a tad bit more so he doesn’t injure Enjolras. He’s a bit jealous of Enjolras, really. If today wasn’t all about Enjolras, Courfeyrac would very much like to tie Grantaire down and ride his dick until the artist begs. He’ll have to talk to Combeferre about this idea and maybe it could become a reality next time.

Courfeyrac caresses the red flesh in front of him, pinching it slightly and drawing another loud moan from Enjolras and Grantaire alike, but they keep at their slow rhythm. Courfeyrac brings his fingers inside Enjolras together again, pressing lightly until he finds the familiar feeling of Enjolras’ prostate. The blonde whines louder, his back trembling beautifully as Courfeyrac ghosts his fingers over the area, then returns to a scissoring motion. Courfeyrac watches as Enjolras trembles and begins to fall apart, pliant under both his and Grantaire’s ministrations.

“Another, Courf.” Combeferre’s voice is hitched, and his gaze is on Grantaire and Enjolras’ mouth, but Courfeyrac could hardly blame him. He lubes up a third finger and slides it in, letting his hand rest fully on Enjolras’ reddened and warm ass. Courfeyrac spreads his fingers apart, Enjolras’ rim clinging to them greedily,

Courfeyrac presses all three fingers to Enjolras’ prostate just as Grantaire’s grip on Enjolras tightens, jerking the other man towards him and away from Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac lets his fingers just rest there inside Enjolras, enraptured by Grantaire’s face as he comes into Enjolras’ mouth. He can see hints of veins in Grantaire’s arms, his features tense as he pins Enjolras in place, the blonde’s nose pressed directly to Grantaire’s pelvis.

“Don’t swallow yet.” He says in a rush, “Let Combeferre see it.”

Enjolras tilts his head towards the laptop as Grantaire sits down on the mattress to catch his breath, cock glistening with his own cum and Enjolras’ saliva. Courfeyrac spreads his fingers, making Enjolras’ mouth fall even wider. White drops from the corner of his lips, but Grantaire catches it before it falls on the keyboard of the laptop.

Combeferre is crooning in a low voice, quiet enough just for Enjolras to hear, and Enjolras’ expression is becoming more and more dazed, his eyes unfocused as he only needs to hang onto Combeferre’s words.

This is what Enjolras needs, Courfeyrac’s steady presence behind him, as he is acutely aware of Courfeyrac’s fingers inside of him, the digits anchoring him in place. Combeferre in front of him, gaze steady and grounding, and even though Enjolras is robbed of Combeferre’s touch, Combeferre’s words are there, surrounding him and enveloping him. Then there is Grantaire’s added presence, his soothing touches bringing a thrill and pleasure that is entirely unknown, re-igniting the desire in Enjolras to please and impress.

Combeferre says something, but he’s not talking to Enjolras, so it’s okay if Enjolras stops listening and just lets his gaze trace the skin that Combeferre is showing, imagining what he looks like without his shirt.

“Love, look at me.” Enjolras snaps to attention immediately, and preens under the smile Combeferre gives him. He doesn’t normally let people he sleeps with call him petnames - he didn’t like the idea of being patronised or babied, as people tended to associate him with given his small stature and more androgynous features.

But with Combeferre, with Courfeyrac - with Grantaire’s angel - he knows the meaning behind their choice of words, and he knows it’s different. It reminds him that he’s loved, he’s cherished, that he’s appreciated for who he is and not just for what he does or says.

“You are so good for all of us,” Combeferre’s words sends a pleased shiver down Enjolras’ spine, and he stays put even as Grantaire’s hands leave him with a lingering caress, him and Courfeyrac switching places.

Two of Courfeyrac’s fingers push past Enjolras’ lips, dipping into the cum still pooling in Enjolras’ mouth, mixing in the taste of lube. “Can I kiss him, Ferre?” He hears Courfeyrac ask, “I want to taste Grantaire as well.”

Combeferre must give his assent, because Courfeyrac leans down to suck on Enjolras’ bottom lip, then cover Enjolras’ mouth with his, tongue pushing enthusiastically inside to curl around Enjolras’ own tongue. His hand rests on the back of Enjolras’ neck, keeping him there as they both share in the taste of Grantaire.

“Enough.” Combeferre’s voice cuts through them like a sharp knife, and Courfeyrac tears himself away, both of them panting. “Grantaire, use your tongue to prepare Enjolras. Let our leader know what else you can offer with that mouth of yours.”

The first touch of wetness makes Enjolras sob in relief, clinging to Courfeyrac with newfound desperation. Grantaire starts with broad stripes up Enjolras’ thighs and circles around his entrance, occasionally dipping the tip of his tongue inside, teasing Enjolras. In this angle he can’t really feel Grantaire’s stubble, just hints of it ghosting along the back of his thighs, but even without the anticipated stubble burn this is more than anything he could have ever imagined.

“Can you feel him, Enjolras? God, what I’d do to trade places with you, you lucky thing,” Filth pours out of Courfeyrac’s mouth for all three of them. “Mmh, R, take a bite out of that ass for me, leave another mark. You’d like that, Enj, wouldn’t you? My handprints, and now Grantaire’s teeth. Fuck, I can’t wait to see R fuck you. But first things first, you wanted his mouth, didn’t you? You sweet little thing, you just need to lie here and let us take care of you.”

The sharp sting that comes with Grantaire’s teeth makes Enjolras cry out, his vision blurring for a strong second as his arms spasm against Courfeyrac. He can feel Grantaire’s breath hot against the still vulnerable and reddened flesh, and then Grantaire is kissing the pain better and Enjolras sobs in relief.

“That’s it, sweetheart, be good for R,” Courfeyrac breathes, his hand firm and grounding around Enjolras’ fingers, “It seems he’s ready to get a proper taste of you. You can feel it, can’t you? The calluses on his fingers, the fingers that you always obsess about, his hands spreading your ass cheeks apart. Aww, he’s blushing. Is his tongue inside of you now?”

Enjolras nods with effort, squirming in Courfeyrac’s hold. Grantaire is unrelenting as he pushes his tongue forward, thick and dexterous, and the way he licks up Enjolras like he is a dessert makes Enjolras’ cock strain even harder against the pillows stacked underneath him. But Courfeyrac is holding his hands and Grantaire is gripping his thighs, and above all Combeferre is watching him, so Enjolras forces himself to hold still despite his overwhelming desire to either push forward to grind his cock against the pillows, or push back against Grantaire’s face. Enjolras quivers with the knowledge that it is _Grantaire_ behind him, knows that everything he has to offer Grantaire _won’t_ be enough for all that the other man has done for him, that Enjolras has been so stupid and callous with Grantaire before that he’s beyond _honoured_ that Grantaire is here right now.

Grantaire takes his time, exploring every crevice of Enjolras that he can reach with his tongue, imagining his own cock filling the space, venerating this body he had thought he could only worship from afar. He could spend eternity like this, wrangling delicious moans out of Enjolras that mix with the music that are Courfeyrac’s honey-like words, Combeferre a silent observer.

He is in their orbit now, in the world that he had resigned himself to simply glancing at. He pushes his tongue even further inside Enjolras, curling against his walls, determined to get the artificial taste of lube out of Enjolras. Saliva trails down Enjolras’ inner thighs, Grantaire’s grip hard as if Enjolras would float away if he let go.

Enjolras’ cries grow louder as his tongue scrapes across what he assumes is Enjolras’ prostate, and he teases the area with small flicks, feeling Enjolras spasm in his hold. He’s heady and dazed from the realization that it’s _him_ doing all these things to Enjolras, that he’s _allowed_ to even touch Enjolras this way, that he’s allowed to touch what is Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s.

He hears Combeferre calls his name, and he instantly jerks back, but his grip on Enjolras doesn’t weaken. Combeferre calls for Enjolras and Courfeyrac next, just a simple utterance of their names, but it seizes their attention as swiftly as it had gripped Grantaire’s.

“You’ve all been so good today,” Combeferre says, his easy grin warming and making Grantaire relax. “Enjolras, this is the first chance you have to come. The second is when Grantaire is inside you. You either come from Grantaire’s tongue, or you won’t be coming until you have their cocks inside you, do you understand?”

Enjolras nods, his reactions a bit slow and dazed. “Well, Grantaire,” Combeferre positively _purrs_ , “What are you waiting for?”

Grantaire eagerly presses his face back between Enjolras’ ass cheeks, hands yanking Enjolras’ backward, sure to leave bruises in the morning. Enjolras’ taste explodes on his tongue as did the first time, and he dives straight for Enjolras’ prostate, assaulting it with renewed vigour. Enjolras begs with his moans and sobs, and Grantaire can only imagine how his lovely features would twist from his ministrations, on the edge, strung out from the spankings done.

His own eyes are slipped shut, his nose bumping against the top of Enjolras’ ass sporadically as he tries to thrust his tongue in as deep as possible, curling within Enjolras, replacing the lube Courfeyrac put in with his own saliva, marking Enjolras in a most primitive of ways. He can hear the sounds of Courfeyrac kissing Enjolras, filthy and open-mouthed, as well as the helpless whimpers that Enjolras lets out.

Grantaire loses himself in the sensation, his own cock rock hard and trapped uncomfortably between his stomach and legs as he kneels behind Enjolras, kissing this angel inside out. He drinks up everything that Enjolras has to offer, greedily pressing in even further with his tongue, even as his jaw aches and tongue tires, for he wants _everything_ Enjolras will give him in case this is the last chance he’ll ever have to touch Enjolras this way.

Enjolras lets out a sharp cry and suddenly silences, and his legs twitch in Grantaire’s hands violently before stilling. Simultaneously he tightens around Grantaire’s tongue, bringing a fresh wave of fluid gushing from the depths of Enjolras and into Grantaire’s mouth. “Grantaire, stop,” Combeferre’s order draws him out of his entranced state and he pulls back immediately.

In front of him Enjolras has slumped over on the pillows, drawing deep breaths with his kiss swollen lips. “Enjolras came for you, R,” Combeferre narrates softly, “It’s a shame that you didn’t get to see it, but he was so beautiful for you. You can watch next time, alright?”

Courfeyrac reaches over Enjolras and reels Grantaire in by the shoulder, plunging his tongue inside Grantaire’s mouth before he can dwell too much on the _next time_. Between them they share the taste of Enjolras, and Courfeyrac pulls back a little to clean Enjolras’ fluids off Grantaire’s face, leaving little bites on his jaw.

When they separate Courfeyrac’s face is completely flushed, and there’s a satisfied gleam in his eyes. His hair is disheveled from Grantaire’s fingers running through them, and he leans forward to give Grantaire one last peck before settling back in front of Enjolras, awaiting Combeferre’s next command.

Enjolras’ breathing has evened out now, but he’s still slumped over the pillows, blue eyes tracing their moments hungrily. For a moment the three just stare at each other silently, Grantaire still slightly overwhelmed, Courfeyrac assured, and Enjolras dazed and yearning for more.

“Courf, get the ball gag. I don’t think Enj will need the cock ring today.” Combeferre is the only one allowed to break the silence, and Courfeyrac scrambles to follow his orders. The mention of those two items makes Grantaire blink rapidly, and have to steady himself on the mattress with one hand. “R, take away the pillows and flip Enjolras onto his back.”

He does as he is told, rolls Enjolras onto his back and throws the pillow behind the laptop. Enjolras is sated and warm to touch, peering up at Grantaire with a piercing, mesmerizing glance that makes Grantaire swallow.

Combeferre has him move the laptop around a bit until he finds a good angle, stacking it on top of pillows, and by then Courfeyrac has returned with a red item in his hands. Red had always looked good on Enjolras. Enjolras makes a small noise of protest, but obediently holds his mouth wide for Courfeyrac to fit the ball gag in his mouth, obstructing his deadliest weapon.

“What do you think, Grantaire?” Combeferre asks him, “Would you paint him like this?”

He nods, and then shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be enough,” He answers, “No man-made creation would do him justice.”

Enjolras’ cheeks turn even redder and his eyes crinkle with contentment. Courfeyrac pats Enjolras on the head indulgently and interjects, “Why paint him when you can fuck him?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and Grantaire snorts, but secretly agrees that Courfeyrac is quite right. “One of these days I will teach you patience,” Combeferre muses, “But today is Enjolras’ day. Go on, Courf, fuck him like this. You can come in Enjolras, but Enjolras, you can’t come until Grantaire fucks you, pet, do you understand?”

Enjolras gives a slow nod, then Courfeyrac is eagerly clambering over to lift Enjolras’ legs onto his shoulder, pushing Grantaire to sit next to the laptop. “Did you know Enjolras does yoga?” He asks Grantaire playfully. No, Grantaire did not know. Yes, he knows now because no-one’s legs should be _that_ flexible. Courfeyrac presses Enjolras’ legs forward until he’s almost folded over, feet hooked around Courfeyrac’s neck and his knees almost at the level of his chest.

Courfeyrac slicks his cock with lube, then lines himself up and just pushes forward relentlessly, Enjolras’ back arching slightly as the blonde twists his fingers together, his bound hands resting on his stomach. He’s stretched enough from Courfeyrac and Grantaire that Courfeyrac can bottom smoothly, his hips pressed to Enjolras’ reddened ass.

He gives Enjolras a few moments then he starts thrusting, his hands gripping Enjolras’ legs. Enjolras is extremely vocal, as he had told Grantaire, but something about the gag makes Enjolras go haywire. Where he falls short in voice he makes up in physical reactions, and now Courfeyrac has only thrusted in for a few times but Enjolras is already twitching in his hold, heels digging into the small of his back as his knuckles turn white with how hard he is clenching his fists.

Combeferre gives Grantaire the instruction to untie Enjolras’ hands, noticing the same problem, and as soon Enjolras is free his hands fly towards the bedsheets, twisting them viciously. Courfeyrac grips Enjolras’ legs to anchor himself, his hands overlapping with Grantaire’s handprints. Then he actually starts fucking Enjolras into the mattress, reveling in the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Enjolras’ inner walls wrap greedily around his cock, but despite the overwhelming sensation he refuses to close his eyes, drinking in the sight of Enjolras underneath him, mouth spread wide by the ball gag, a faint trail of saliva already beginning to trickle from the corner of his mouth. His curls are loose from his ponytail, face flushed and slicked with sweat. His eyes are watering as he begs Courfeyrac wordlessly to fuck him faster, harder, to debauch him, to defile this angel.

“Enjolras,” He breathes out, just mindlessly chases his release in Enjolras’ body. “You’re so perfect for us,” He chokes out, “So warm, so tight, fuck, you were born to take our cocks, Enjolras, you were.”

He pushes Enjolras’ even closer to his body, knowing that it’ll start to pull on his muscles but it also tilts his hips up, giving Courfeyrac an even better angle to fuck him, the tip of his cock barely scraping across his prostate everytime. “Fuck me, we should just chain you to a bed,” He croaks out, “We’ll take good care of you, Ferre and R and I, we’ll make sure you eat well and sleep well and we’ll stuff you full with our cocks, because that’s the only thing you need.”

Intermittently between his words he bites at Enjolras’ neck and collar, bringing a fresh wave of tears as he leaves marks that will remain for days.

His orgasm hits him unexpectedly like a freight train, and his cry of Enjolras’ name comes out garbled. He rests on Enjolras for a bit then pulls away, easing Enjolras’ legs back onto the mattress as he sits down onto the bed, regulating his breath.

Enjolras’ cock is still hard and leaking, and he twitches on the mattress weakly, unable to voice his demands. Courfeyrac crawls towards Grantaire with effort, patting the dazed man on the hip before pushing him towards Enjolras, sitting down on the spot next to the laptop. Enjolras reaches his arms out for Grantaire weakly, but Grantaire ignores him in favour of toying with Enjolras’ rim with two fingers, tracing Courfeyrac’s seed that is leaking out and tasting them.

“Is this what your wet dreams look like, R?” Courfeyrac manages to catch his breath and say, earning an annoyed huff from Combeferre and a stupidly confused look from Grantaire.

“Courf, shut up.” Combeferre says, and Courfeyrac mimes zipping his lips shut. Instead of throwing the key away, he hands it to Combeferre, pressing it against the camera of the screen. Combeferre snorts again, but reaches towards his own camera and takes the key.

“R, you do deadlifts in the gym, right?” Combeferre asks. Grantaire nods, self-consciously poking his own biceps. They’re not as prominent as Bahorel’s, but it’s enough to overshadow both Courfeyrac and Enjolras’ physiques.

“I want you to lift Enjolras up, his legs hooked over your arms, your hands holding him up by his ass. I want you to bounce him on your cock. You can tell me if you want a raincheck on that.”

Courfeyrac holds his tongue but lets out a little whine of frustration. Fuck, he really doesn’t want Grantaire to say he doesn’t want to do it; why did Combeferre give him that option? From the muffled whine that is echoed by Enjolras, he isn’t alone in his sentiments.

To his relief Grantaire shakes his head, immediately picking Enjolras up from underneath his knees and plopping him down on Grantaire’s lap. Enjolras blinks dazedly in the abrupt position change, resting his hands on Grantaire’s broad shoulders. Some of his hair falls to the sides of his face, and if not for the fucked out expression on his face and his swollen lips wrapped around a gag, would have looked like an exquisite porcelain doll, ready for display on a shelf. Instead he's covered with marks, debauched, a courtesan who spreads his legs for cock. Courfeyrac watches as Grantaire mouths at Enjolras’ neck at the side that Courfeyrac had left unmarked, stubble scratching against Enjolras’ collarbone as he sucks a hickey into Enjolras’ skin. At such close proximity their size difference is made even more apparent. Enjolras is easily the tiniest member among their friends group, perhaps only on par with Joly, while Grantaire is only dwarfed by Combeferre’s height and Bahorel’s physique.

Enjolras tilts his head back, his legs hanging uselessly hooked in Grantaire’s arms, so he just leans back and lets Grantaire kiss bruises down his neck and shoulder, decorating him the same way Courfeyrac had done.

When Enjolras gets impatient he starts tugging at Grantaire’s curls, so the man presses a kiss to the corner of Enjolras’ mouth then slides his hands down to Enjolras’ ass, squeezing the abused flesh lightly before lifting Enjolras up. Grantaire’s cock is already fully erect, and Courfeyrac’s attention is solely focused on how Enjolras’ ass slowly swallows every inch up. Enjolras’ head falls to Grantaire’s shoulders, his fingers digging scratches into Grantaire’s skin as Grantaire pushes Enjolras down onto his cock, slow, but forceful. Enjolras’ entire weight rests on Grantaires’ cock, and he lets out a loud moan that can still be heard through the gag.

“Ready?’ Courfeyrac hears Grantaire say, and Enjolras gives the tiniest of nods. Grantaire’s hands grip Enjolras’ ass harder, then he just lifts the slighter man up and then slams him right back down, ripping a scream out of Enjolras, his toes curling as he struggles to adjust. But Grantaire doesn’t give him a break, just picks him up and pushes him back down again, like Enjolras is his personal fleshlight, a vessel just for his cock.

Courfeyrac watches with blatant fascination as Enjolras body twitches in Grantaire’s hold, the overwhelming sensation of being manhandled like this manifesting clearly in Enjolras’ reactions. He’s entirely pliant and boneless, just bouncing on Grantaire’s cock like a doll, gaze transfixed onto Grantaire’s eyes. Tears run down his face anew. Courfeyrac _knew_ Enjolras would be a huge slut for this, but neither he or Combeferre have the strength to pull it off, and doing it together was cheating somehow.

Every thrust jostles Enjolras’ body, and there’s just continuous noise coming from behind the ball gag, sounds that go straight to Courfeyrac’s cock and would have filled it immediately if he hadn’t just come.

“Ferre,” He says, without turning away from the two in front of him, “Are you going to come tonight?”

Combeferre chuckles lowly. “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

Courfeyrac purses his lips, because he really can’t tell. Combeferre rarely loses his composure where Courfeyrac and Enjolras can see. “I want you to come on my face, sir,” He says quietly. “Is that the game you want to play when I come back, pet?” Combeferre returns in an equally quiet voice, neither of them wanting to disrupt the performance in front of them.

“When you come back.” Courfeyrac promises, turning his attention back to Grantaire and Enjolras. Enjolras’ head is just slumped down on Grantaire’s shoulder now, his grip on Grantaire so tight that there are red, crescent shaped marks on Grantaire’s skin, but the artist pays no heed on them as he continues to bounce Enjolras in his lap. Grantaire makes it look so effortless, and Courfeyrac’s cock twitches traitorously once more.

Enjolras’ cock is trapped between Grantaire’s abs and his own soft tummy, spreading precum over both of their bodies. Courfeyrac doesn’t think he’ll be able to hold until Grantaire is finished, and he tells Combeferre so.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre says aloud, and Grantaire nudges Enjolras with his chin until Enjolras turns his head to their direction. His eyes are completely glazed over now, his face streaked with sweat and tears. “Grantaire fucks you so well, doesn’t he?”

Enjolras nods desperately, clinging tighter to Grantaire. Throughout Grantaire’s movements don’t stop, just continues to jostle Enjolras’ body on his cock.

“Courfeyrac and Grantaire have taken such good care of you today, haven’t they?” Another nod, equally as desperate.

“Will you repay their kindness with overworking and distressing them again?” A vehement shake of his head, or as vehement as he can be when Enjolras is clearly losing control over his limbs at a particularly hard push of Grantaire’s.

“I knew you’d be a good boy,” Combeferre says finally, “Come for me, love.”

The scream that rips out from behind the ball gag makes Grantaire slam him down even harder onto his cock, Enjolras’ inner walls squeezing on his cock suffocatingly as the man spasms in his hold, legs thrashing as Enjolras’ semen fill the space between the two of them. His own cock sits achingly hard inside of Enjolras, so warm and tight that he doesn’t want to leave.

“R, continue,” Combeferre says, and Grantaire turns to face him in bewilderment. Courfeyrac is lounging next to the laptop, running fingers down his flaccid cock. “He can take it,” The brunette reassures, “He likes it.”

So Grantaire resumes his punishing pace, and Enjolras squeals loudly again, albeit the sound is more muffled by the gag. Enjolras is complete putty in his arms, so _perfect_ , so pliant and obedient and just in a way that Grantaire never imagined he could ever see Enjolras in. He fucks him through the oversensitivity, Enjolras clenching around his cock sporadically as the blonde continues to sob and twitch in Grantaire’s hold, until he gives one final thrust and lets his cum fill Enjolras up.

He lets Enjolras lie back onto the mattress and lies down himself as well on his back, panting like he’s just done an intensive workout. He sits back up again when Courfeyrac returns with towels and ointment, and he wipes all three of them down as Courfeyrac makes Enjolras turn over to rub the cream over the welts on his ass and the marks of the rope on his skin. Courfeyrac unclasps the ball gag and throws it somewhere behind him, rubbing Enjolras’ jaw soothingly as Grantaire massages the blossoming bruises on Enjolras’ legs. With every push of his hand he can see cum leaking out between Enjolras' thighs, and the depravity of the situation reminds him that _shit, I just had sex with the triumvirate_.

“Wait,” Enjolras mumbles, “Ferre?” They give him the laptop and watch as Combeferre praises him for being a good boy again, and Enjolras returns an affectionate, dopey smile.

“When will you be back?” He asks, resting his head on his arms as the other two men rub at his sore spots.

“Two more days, and then you can come pick me up from the airport,” Combeferre promises, “But you need to take care of yourself, okay? You’re no good to the group if you’re stressed out. Frankly speaking, I’m shocked Courf let it get this worse before texting me.”

“I know.” Enjolras sighs, “I just forget sometimes, and Courf has another project with a new shelter across town, so we haven’t had much time to hang out. That happens when you’re not here. Courfeyrac and I forget.”

Combeferre laughs lightly, the wide grin of his that makes Enjolras’ flutter every single time. “I’ll be back soon,” Combeferre promises, “In the meantime the two of you better make sure Grantaire stays in the bed with you. You know how easily he starts doubting his own self worth.”

“I am here, you know.” Grantaire pretends to grumble.

“Then you heard me, and you know we want you.” Combeferre returns. “Get some decent sleep, all three of you. The world can live without you for a few hours as you catch up on rest.”

They say their goodbyes and Courfeyrac returns the laptop to its position on the desk, before switching off the lights and flopping down onto the bed. Enjolras and him sandwich Grantaire between them, their limbs tangling together.

“You guys don’t have to cage me in, you know,” Grantaire says faintly, “I’m pretty sure I’m too fucked out to run away in the middle of the night.”

“No,” Courfeyrac says, pulling the blankets over all three of them, “You’d just wake up before the both of us do, freak out, run, and hide in your studio for a month or so before Enjolras gives up on talking and just breaks the door down.”

Grantaire doesn’t say anything to that.

“We’re doing this all wrong, you know,” Enjolras mumbles sleepily, “We were going to ask you out properly after Ferre comes back.”

“Were you?” Grantaire returns, sounding just a bit hysterical. “Mmh.” Enjolras answers, mashing his face further into Grantaire’s neck, “‘Was looking forward to it.”

“Sleep.” Courfeyrac whines loudly, slinging a hand over Enjolras’ waist and resting on Grantaire’s hip. “What would Combeferre say if he knew we were still up?”

An honest giggle bursts out of Enjolras’ throat. “I guess he’ll have to punish all of us when he comes back.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ferre: wants to rope R in so he gets help handling his two somewhat bratty subs  
> R: an even brattier sub
> 
> Anyway! Hope you guys liked it, do leave kudos and comments if you can! I'm making a series for this just in case I want to write more for the foursome but I'm not promising anything
> 
> [I have a twitter](https://www.twitter.com/hornet394)  
> and a [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/hornet394)  
> [And also a tumblr but I still don't really know how to use it](https://hornet394.tumblr.com)  
> 


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